


snowflakes on your soft skin

by quinziggle



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, He forgets to take care of himself, Human!Pete, Jack Frost!Patrick, M/M, Patrick does not understand humans, Pete is a struggling writer, Travie/Patrick bromance, albino Patrick, winter spirit au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8819098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinziggle/pseuds/quinziggle
Summary: pete dreams of blizzards burying him alive at night, and he struggles to cope with life during the day. he catches the attention of a frost sprite, who is strangely drawn to him, and whose invisible presence is a comfort during pete's episodes. soon, patrick decides to explain himself to pete, revealing the secrets of the (super)natural world.





	1. haunted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [live_and_let_live](https://archiveofourown.org/users/live_and_let_live/gifts), [Anxious_Little_Hufflepuff_7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anxious_Little_Hufflepuff_7/gifts), [PopPunkTart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PopPunkTart/gifts).



The figure was outside again, the streetlight pooling around him, illuminating their silhouette. 

He'd never seen their face, but from the way they were dressed and the way they stood, he guessed they were probably male. He wondered if they were cold out there, it being December and all. He couldn't quite tell, but he was pretty sure they weren't wearing a coat. Pete wondered what they could be doing out so late, spending so long staring up at the sky. 

He was slightly ashamed to say that he'd begun waiting up for the mysterious person, watching them out of his bedroom window ever since he'd spotted the figure by the streetlight a few weeks ago. He wondered if they were waiting for someone, or if they just liked to watch the stars. Then again, the light pollution was so bad that there weren't really any stars to see, but that didn't seem to stop whoever it was. 

He waited another fifteen minutes, not entirely sure what he was hoping to achieve by watching a complete stranger, but still wanting to keep an eye on them. He wasn't exactly sure why, but he felt the need to make sure they were safe. 

Maybe he should go out and talk to them? The spike of anxiety this thought caused was enough to make him grimace, hand instinctively reaching up to clutch at his chest, trying to reassure himself. Okay, so maybe not today, but tomorrow... Then maybe he'd be able to talk to the stranger. 

Still peering out of his window, Pete yawned; the late nights really weren't good for him, what with his day job, and his shitty band that took up most of his nights. When he looked back down, the stranger was gone, and it was beginning to snow, tiny flakes falling slowly and silently, pressing against his window or tumbling to the ground. Turning back towards his bed, he sighed, closing the window, pulling the curtains shut and crawling into bed. 

It took a good hour for him to settle enough to try and sleep, and when he finally lost consciousness, his dreams were haunted by the feel of icy hands running through his hair, and a cold, cold pressure weighing him down. There was a voice too, frantically calling his name, sounding desperate and terrified and so, so far away... _You have to wake up! Wake up, Pete, wake up, please! ___  
And then he was falling, crying out silently as he plummeted down, down into the darkness. His lungs screamed at him to breathe, but the more he struggled, the faster he fell.  
The last thing he remembered were a pair of wild blue eyes, staring into his, while cold hands tried to shake him awake. _Pete! PETE! ___  


He woke up with a yell, rolling onto the floor with a crash. Heart pounding, he sat up trembling, trying to get his breathing to slow down and his hands to stop shaking. Looking up, he noticed the window was wide open, covered in frost patterns and dripping snow onto the carpet. Pete steadied himself, before getting to his feet, and closing it. He let himself look out for a second, just to see if his watcher was there.  
There was no one outside, but the snow was thick and untrodden, and the streetlight was still shining brightly in the early morning gloom.  
"It was just a dream," He reminded himself, holding a hand over his chest as if it would slow his racing heart. "Just a dream."


	2. echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: panic attack

The day seemed to drag on forever. Every time he opened up the half finished Word document of ideas, he would get distracted, lost in thoughts of blue eyes filled with snowflakes, finding himself staring at a blank screen half an hour later, eyes watering and chest aching, feeling even worse about himself. Caffeine was useless; he just kept forgetting to drink his coffee when he made it, leaving it until it grew cold. He hadn't eaten anything yet today, and from the way his stomach was growling, he wasn't sure when he'd last eaten. 

Today was supposed to be a good day, he had time to himself, he wasn't expected anywhere and he didn't even have that much work to do! There was no reason for his heart to be pounding against his ribs, or his head to be spinning. He needed to get control of himself. He needed to calm down. But there was something tight and distressed welling up in his chest, despite the emptiness he felt everywhere else. "Shit," he gasped out, gripping onto his desk and forcing himself to just keep on breathing, in and out, in and out. Panic stole his voice away, but he could still hear the frightened rasp that escaped him as he tried to inhale, and everything was aching and he was far, far, too hot... There were dark spots dancing in the corner of his eye, and everything was blurring. _Shit _.  
He felt himself falling again, only this time it wasn't a dream, and he couldn't even stop himself from hitting the floor. __

There was someone in his apartment.  
That was the first thing that registered when Pete woke up. He felt cool hands stroking his forehead, someone murmuring softly to him. He was lying down on his back, and tucked into his bed, which was definitely _not _how he'd passed out, and the ache had left his chest, his head still cloudy but there was no pain, at least. He tried to sit up, blinking groggily.__

__Immediately the hands were gone._ _

__When his head was clear enough to open his eyes, he found himself alone. Sitting upright, he held one hand to his chest, breathing in deeply. It was only then that he noticed the open window, and the frost traced messily over his mirror. He stared, open-mouthed at the pattern. No, not just a pattern. _A note _.___ _

_____REMEMBER TO EAT. ____ _ _ _


	3. crystalline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> somehow pete keeps his cool. literally.

For some reason Pete still wasn't freaking out.  
He was sitting up in bed, calmly staring at the words looping across his mirror.  
It took some time, but he finally managed to get up, heading to his little kitchen to follow the instructions. The fridge was empty, apart from some eye-wateringly awful smelling milk, half a jar of olives, and an onion. He had more luck in the cupboards, where he discovered two jars; one of peanut butter, one of nutella, some bread that had seen better days, but wasn't quite mouldy, and a packet of spaghetti. 

With these items, he created an interesting meal of peanut butter and nutella sandwiches, with olives and a mug of water on the side (to be healthy). He had to admit, he did feel better with food inside him, and even if the frost patterns were just a part of his wild imagination, they'd still helped him out, so after he was done, he toasted his cup to the ceiling. 

By then, it was nearly five in the afternoon, and Pete was feeling tired again. Resisting his urge to just crawl back into bed, he made himself down another cup of water, before going back into his study to continue working. As he walked past his bedroom he paused. If he went in and there was nothing on his mirror, then it would just be another weird dream. If he went in there and it was real... If it was real he had no idea what he'd do. What did he have to lose?  
It wasn't like anything interesting normally happened to him. 

Setting his shoulders, he turned, walking purposefully into the room.  
The mirror looked just as it usually did.  
He touched it; it was dry, not even a hint that it had been frozen over not too long ago. Swearing under his breath, Pete kicked at the pile of clothes on his bombshell floor.  
Stupid brain, playing stupid tricks on him.  
As he left, he failed to notice the frost spreading across his ceiling and down his walls, the window wide open. 

 

The evening passed fairly uneventfully, and he managed to get a page of writing down, although none of it felt _perfect _, it was still good that he wasn't too distracted to actually concentrate and write.__

At about eight o'clock, he got up from his chair, stretching out his aching neck and heading to the bathroom. Staring at his reflection, he frowned at the dark shadows under his eyes, and the scruff of stubble the was beginning to trail over his jaw. His dark hair was sticking up in three different directions, and his tired eyes stared back at him, tinged with a dull, defeated calm. Sighing, he turned away, yanking off his shirt, and feeling mildly surprised when he realised that he was wearing another two underneath. He kicked off his pyjama pants (he'd forgotten to get changed earlier), and was about to remove his boxers when he felt the temperature drop. He turned to face the window - which definitely had not been open earlier - and as he did so, he heard a loud - oddly embarrassed sounding - squeaking noise. It sounded human rather than artificial or animal, and though he couldn't see anyone, he could see the frost rapidly curling up the walls.  
"Hello?" He called out, feeling like a cliché white person in a horror movie. His voice was rough, almost scratchy sounding. There was no response. So he moved closer, arms outstretched and fumbling wildly, towards the cold spot. "...This is freaky Paranormal Activity type shit..." His hand caught onto something he couldn't see and he swallowed nervously. That was... something. There was definitely something there. But as soon as he got a grip on the thing (which felt like a piece of material, maybe clothing, but _fucking cold _), it wriggled out of his grip. He felt something brush past him, and suddenly the room was warm again, and the ice was melting down the walls. "Jesus christ," Pete muttered wearliy, stepping into the shower. "I really need to sleep more..."__


	4. the winter spirit and the librarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> patrick does not understand humans. he decides he would like to, though.

Patrick really didn't know what he was doing. He had been waiting for the signal that the first snow was due, the sign that autumn was officially over. Ashley was late, and he had no option but to wait for her, making himself unseen during the day, and waiting silently at night. They'd arranged for him to wait at these exact coordinates, by the streetlight that was making his eyes water with its brightness. He much preferred the dark, anywhere too warm or bright made him uncomfortable if he stayed too long. 

So after a week of waiting, he'd decided to explore the area, not straying far from the streetlight, but busying himself so he didn't get too bored.  
He'd soon discovered that when he tried to help water people's plants they ended up dying from his frost, and unless he was careful, wherever he walked he left sheets of ice, which weren't very helpful for the humans, as they kept on slipping over. 

The humans were confusing, he soon realised. He'd never paid that much attention to them in his many years, but now he was, he found himself intrigued. Of course, most of them weren't particularly interesting to study, but he found his attention caught by the human that lived in the building opposite to his streetlight.  
For some reason, this human seemed to be able to actually _see _him. Either that, or he was just very fond of late night birdwatching -- this was something that Patrick had discovered humans enjoyed as a leisurely pastime.__

__However, the more he investigated this human, with his strange ink patterned skin and dark attire, the more he came to realise that something was wrong. His human, _Pete _, was not keeping himself healthy like the other humans on his street. Pete stayed inside all day most days, which couldn't be good for him -- _perhaps it was the reason why his skin was so uncannily swirled with painted images _... And he rarely remembered to feed or bathe himself; Patrick understood that humans needed to do these things, or they would end up getting sick, or even dying. For the first time in a thousand years, he began to worry._____ _

______Ashley still hadn't brought the sign for first snow, so he still wasn't needed. This meant he had some time, and he knew what he was going to have to do. When humans didn't know the answer to a problem, they would either ask someone else who might know, or research it. He knew of buildings where humans went to source information from books, and he travelled on the north wind into the city, to try and find one that would teach him why his human was behaving so unhealthily.  
Following a young human, who was carrying a heavy looking load of books through the doors of a large building labeled 'City Central Library', he found himself in the midst of a bustling centre of activity, different people scurrying about all over the place. _ _ _ _ _ _

Upon spotting a human with skin a little darker than Pete's, but branded with similar threads of inky colour, he walked over to them, studying their appearance closely. Perhaps this human could give him some clue as to what was wrong with Pete. He made himself visible, and began to speak. "What kind of illness makes those markings appear on your skin?"  
The human jumped, looking startled. "Shi--uh, shoot, I didn't see you there..."  
Patrick stared at him, waiting for him to answer the question. The human looked a little uncomfortable, running his hand through his hair -- it was dark, like Pete's, but it curled up and out into little twists, instead of flopping over this human's face. Fascinating.  
"Do you mean my tattoos?" Patrick screwed up his face in concentration. "Are those patterns what you call 'tattoos'?"  
"Well, yeah... Have you never seen tattoos before?"  
He shook his head firmly. "I have only seen them on one other, but I believe he is very ill, or cursed. Do you know how I can help him?"  
The new human's eyes widened, his eyebrows lifted, and he scratched his head.  
Perhaps he did not understand? Patrick was about to repeat himself when the human replied.  
" _Cursed _?? That sounds really crazy, man... But I have a friend who knows about that kind of stuff? I could introduce you?"__

Patrick thought about it. That sounded like a useful suggestion. He nodded, "Yes, I would like that." Pausing, he thought over the customs of human etiquette he had seen performed over his years. "Do you have a name by which I may address you?" He continued, remembering that humans found it important to have names for each other, and everything around them. "I am Patrick, of the Frost, Bringer of Winter."  
"The Winter Bringer? That's rad, is Frost a family name?" Patrick pursed his lips confused, quickly deciding on nodding; the human just looked amused. "I'm Travie, Travie McCoy. I guess I'm the bringer of late book fees?"  
He decided he liked this human. 


	5. opaline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> patrick grows ever fonder of his favourite human, and takes it upon himself to make sure he has a christmas present

Alone on Christmas Eve...  
Patrick's heart ached for his human. Although the first snow had been called for, and he was supposed to be bringing blizzards around the southern hemisphere, he couldn't help but wander back to Pete's time zone.  
The truth was that his thoughts were disturbingly fixed on the strange human he had never actually spoken to, but had seen in all sorts of vulnerable situations; during nightmares, in the shower, and once when he'd thought he had been dying, and had flown to Travie to ask for help. The poor man had been shocked when he'd suddenly appeared to him in the library, so much so that he'd dropped the books he was carrying. He'd given Patrick some good advice, and it had helped his human calm down, however, Travie had received some strange looks from two elderly women who'd witnessed him talking to the air. 

It was Travie that had given him the idea to buy Pete a gift. It was a human custom that he had never partaken in, but knew enough of the tradition and of his human to know the sort of present Pete might appreciate.  
He noticed that Pete seemed to wear the same garments for weeks at a time, so he decided to buy him some more. Usually, Patrick was extremely against stealing, but as he had no other means of paying, he took several pocketfuls of coins from the town wishing well.  
Then, he found a large retail building, lit up in dazzling lights that made his eyes water, and headed inside, hoping that they wouldn't notice that the automatic door opening for 'no one'. The shop was filled with millions and millions of items of clothing, some of which he had no idea how to wear, or what purpose they had, but he soon found some items he thought were interesting, most in black, as he knew Pete liked that colour, but some in dizzyingly vibrant shades he had never seen before in the natural world. Emptying his pockets of the vaguely damp coins, he left the money on one of the counters labeled 'pay here', and walked off with his purchases in a plastic bag. 

Feeling rather pleased with himself, he quickly flew back to Pete's, tasting the chill of the night alongside the anticipation fluttering in his chest. He left the gifts at the foot of Pete's bed; he had no wrapping paper, but he found a roll of paper that seemed close enough, and wrote out as neatly as he could: _Dearest Pete, I did not want you to feel alone on this holiday. I understand that it is very important for humans to be together on this particular night, so I decided to partake in the festive gift giving! Yours, P._  
Shyly watching his human's body for signs of waking, he crept closer, leaning over him to place a kiss on the tip of his nose, murmuring, "I will be here when you awaken, sleep well." Then, casting a wistful look back at his human, he opened the window, letting the wind carry him to places in need of winter's touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's so short. hope it's still okay though?


	6. frostbitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pete dreams of a blizzard, and wakes up in bed with one

He was lying down, sprawled out in the cold, and when he opened his eyes, all they saw was jet black. The snow was falling thickly, landing in his mouth and on his eyelashes until his face was completely buried. It was crawling into his lungs and sealing his throat, leaving his mouth open in a silent scream. Then, with a furious roar, the ice beneath him began to split, and he was falling down, down, down into the frigid waters. 

Gasping and soaked in sweat, Pete woke up, clutching at the sheets. Adrenaline from his nightmare rushed around his body, making his head spin and his heart throb painfully. _Just a stupid nightmare_ , he told himself, trying to control his shaky breathing. He willed himself to close his eyes again, because although sleep was the last thing he wanted, he knew he needed it if he was going to survive the next day.  
The bed was uncomfortably warm, and the sensation cause by the sweat sticking his shirt to his back was, to be frank, fucking disgusting. Peeling the damp garment off, Pete tossed it over the side of the bed, before spreading out and trying to relax, enjoying the coolness of the night air on his skin. 

Before long, sleep had snatched him up in its arms again, and there was a beautiful boy in bed beside him, watching him quietly.  
When he noticed Pete's gaze, he started, moving as if to leave. Reaching over, Pete grabbed his hand, croaking out a pathetic, " _Please_ stay... Don't leave me..." The boy -- he couldn't have been much older than nineteen, small in stature, with ice blue eyes, soft white hair and eyelashes like snowflakes -- looked at his hand contemplatively. Then he smiled, looking away embarrassedly, before moving closer again, hesitantly pressing himself up against Pete's chest. Slowly, not wanting to scare off this stranger -- _could it be...?_ \-- he wrapped his arms around the fair haired boy, holding him close. His skin was oddly cold, but Pete could feel his heartbeat, and his chilly breath against his neck. 

Closing his eyes, Pete pulled the boy closer, allowing himself to enjoy this dream while it lasted. He soon felt a tentative pair of arms wrap around his own waist, and sighed contentedly, before the urge to sleep was too strong and all conscious thought was lost on the stream of snowflakes dancing behind his eyelids.


End file.
